


She Swaggers on the Boulevard, She Swaggers in the Bed

by presentpathos



Series: The Saga of TSwift and the Ga-ga [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/F, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:23:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/presentpathos/pseuds/presentpathos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wanted to knock that control off a little. So she kissed her. And T kissed back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Swaggers on the Boulevard, She Swaggers in the Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the femslash_today quasi-annual porn battle, February 2010 edition off the prompt Taylor Swift/Lady Gaga, imma let you finish.

She does it mostly because it's fucking fun. Also, she's completely in control of it. That's what she tells herself at least, when she's on her knees in the penthouse suite of the Marmont (because of course it's the Marmont for her) or letting T bite down on her shoulder to muffle the keening wail of her orgasm in the washroom at the VMAs.

Ask her how it started and she couldn't tell you. They had run into each other a few times at awards shows. T. hated LA and New York and tried to never go there. She could empathize with hating LA but didn't understand how someone as hot, rich and single as T could hate New York. It just sort of did. One night they both happened to be at an LA thing at the same time, both hating it and searching for a reason to leave.

“I hate these things.”

“Ugh. I know. I don't even, no one I know is ever here. You know my friend Selena? Four years before she could get into this place. I was thinking of leaving anyway.”

“You don't think it's lame?”

Taylor had giggled, smiled over at her as she straightened her dress (mid-thigh, modest) “People already think I'm lame. Looking lame is your problem.”

“You mind if I come with?”

Turned out T was funny, genuine (sexy, controlled), all those things the magazines said she was. They talked about high school, and feeling like freaks, about press, about boys. T asked her if she wanted to borrow a pair of sweatpants and didn't blink when she shucked her dress off right in the middle of the living room. That's how it had started. She wanted to knock that control off a little. So she kissed her. And T kissed back.

Now T's the one on her knees and S's feet are struggling to find purchase on the sheets (slippery, silk) covering the bed. She's wet, ridiculously so, has been thinking off this for a week, a slow burn that got hotter and hotter. T bites down on her clit a little, just a nibble, and it makes her whole cunt throb and fuck, she's moaning. T takes her time slipping another finger in and it stretches (hurts so good) and flicks her clit with a finger nail, pulls at her lips with her teeth. She's on the verge, again (fourth time, broken) when T comes to a complete halt.

S whimpers and looks down (not in control, desperate) and T's smiling up from between her legs, face shiny with her. She giggles when S whimpers again and slowly (oh so tenderly) laps her tongue forward from ass to clit.

“Taylor, what the fuck? I'm about to-”

“Yo Lady Gaga,” she giggles again (dorky, sweet), “I'ma let you finish, but first I have to say, tonight Taylor Swift gave some of the best head of the all time!”

She can't help but laugh, letting it slide into a gasp as fingers slip back into her and she feels like a bit of a whore, soaking wet and wide open, but fuck, she loves this, every single second of it. Taylor wraps her lips around her clit again and her whole body clenches so tight her torso pitches forward. She throws her arms back to hold herself up and tries to bite back a scream, draws blood (salty, hot) when she bites her lip. It doesn't work. She screams anyway, because she's so fucking good. She flops back on the bed, exhausted and moans. Taylor crawls up against her chest, leave a trail of gentle kisses as she goes. It's not love, they don't kiss on the lips but she can't help it, she reaches up and presses their lips together. It's not love, but she moans when she tastes herself (salty again, sour) on Taylor's lips, smiles as Taylor mewls into her mouth.


End file.
